A unFairytale
by TrollMaster
Summary: A story in which austria isn't a blushing maiden, Hungary isn't a manry man, and bad writing persists. Run.


Once upon a time in a land far, far away there was a kingdom of warriors.

This kingdom was best known for two things; their ruthless conquests, which could make even a seasoned warrior quake from fear, and their almost inhuman artistic abilities, many respected (and sometimes worshipped) musicians, painters, and philosophers hailed from this particular kingdom.

So when this kingdom was rumored to be getting a new prince, the kingdom of warriors held its breath for nine months. Would he be a good fighter? Would he bring riches? Would he be an unintelligent barbarian? (For even thought not many people knew this, they did most of their conquests so that people would leave them alone to perfect their respective interests, for this was a kingdom was truly artists at heart, ruthless artists, but artists none the less)

This highly anticipated prince, when born under the stars in a crisp cold night in the near end of the month of October shocked the kingdom with his beauty; eyes like the purple of dawn, brown, almost black that shined like the finishing of a piano, and porcelain skin, only exception being his cheeks which glowed a healthy pink. The king and queen decided to name this tiny prince roderich, hoping that he would grow up with great power and wealth.

The kingdom immediately loved Roderich for his almost inhuman beauty, but as the young prince grew the kingdom of warriors worried. Instead of the usual brawny warriors, he was slender and rather frail, preferring to spend his time in playing the piano and creating melodies on his piano instead of training.

But since the kingdom loved the prince, more than they loved any prince in a long time, they got scared. Scared of exactly what, they did not know. Be it a foreign kingdom coming and killing him, or taking him away from them, getting married to some barbarian by force or maybe even dying by a blade or gun in one of their many famed it was something else. Maybe it was one of them. Perhaps they were afraid of all of them.

But because of that fear they decided to train him so that the tiny prince would become a mighty warrior that could hold his own. And become a mighty warrior he did, slowly forgetting about how sweetly a piano could sing for the roar of battle, the thrill of a perfecting a song for quick thinking and strategies of battle, and the quiet happiness that seemed to almost make him glow for the elation of winning a deadly game against all of the odds.

Under the young prince's influence, they conquered many lands, and what used to be a small kingdom became an empire, one that most mortals wouldn't even dream of, lest they be called greedy bastards.

But days and months and years pass so eventually the young prince, who was now a teenager, a ripe age of 14, grew tired of fairy tale's treasure, the strategizing of conquests, and the shining crimson of spilled blood from a battle field.

So the now titled the child monster (by some of the less fortunate kingdoms- Prussia- to be exact), hung up his sword, sent his war generals back to their families, and let his natural love and talent for the piano re-emerge, rusty, but still raw with years of want that the young prince unknowingly suppressed.

And the tiny prince became immerged in his piano, stringing melodies together from what seemed thin air, polishing them until they seemed like a living thing all on its own, and when satisfied with them, simply repeating the process again and again.

And before everyone knew it, three years had passed in peace like this, the villagers and the prince alike focused on their art save for small time conquests (that was an invasion by anyone else's standards) to keep their strength and image up, for they still wanted to protect their beloved prince (or in said prince's case, his piano), and make sure nothing happened to him. So they kept up their reputation as vicious warriors, and spread rumors that their prince was fivefold as strong, cruel, and crafty than any prince they had before. And they kept their roderich safe, so the villagers rejoiced.

But what the loyal citizens and the prince alike didn't notice was that he was terribly lonely. If no official business came up then roderich would lock himself up in his chambers and work on piano playing until his fingers felt like they would shatter into a million pieces unless he stopped, and once his fingers adapted, until his head was swimming with fortes, notes, the crescendo of a grand finales.

But whenever he would almost notice his loneliness than he would drown himself in the piano, and each time the almost realization would once again be buried under the music, be it a good or a bad thing.

But by the three years was not spent in vain, he could now play the piano as no other mortal could, his skill being compared to an angels, and often god's himself.

But in three years much can happen. And much did happen, kings rose and fell to power, countries invade and got invaded and life began and ended. So through a series of events much long to go into, a kingdom grew until they were whispered to be as strong as the kingdom of warriors.

And so the kings and queens of the kingdoms, each one for their respective reasons , decided to meet.

And this is where our story truly begins.


End file.
